Winter's Thaw
by prospectkiss
Summary: "I always felt that she was looking out for me..." Before Edgeworth and Phoenix met up again, there was someone else watching over the prosecutor. A look at what might have happened between Miles Edgeworth and Lana Skye.
1. The Last Snowfall

**Author's Notes:** This was written for the _Phoenix Wright_ kink meme. The requester wanted a little Lana/Edgeworth, and the story that popped into my head ran away with me. Ever since her cameo in one of my other stories (_Twelve Years of Christmas_), I've wanted to explore the relationship between Lana Skye and Miles Edgeworth a bit more. The games give you just enough info to imagine what it might have been like.

* * *

_He didn't notice it at first._

When Lana Skye became the Chief Prosecutor, Miles Edgeworth was surprised and more than a little alarmed at the news. The office was one of the highest, most respected positions in his profession. It should not be handed out on a whim to a mere detective, no matter how successful her track record. She had no real prosecutorial experience! How could she manage the city's courts when she only knew how to manage crime scenes?

Despite his misgivings, he attended the induction ceremony, of course. It would have been rude not to. And besides, he had worked closely with her on the Darke trial; it might have seemed suspicious if he did not make an appearance. Though the case had been closed for a few weeks, the media was still fascinated with it. Lana Skye's unusual promotion fanned the fires of conspiracy theories, and the rumors ran the gamut from mundane evidence tampering to more lurid sexual favors in exchange for power. He believed none of it.

The horde of journalists outside their offices hurled questions at Edgeworth as he pushed through, asking him to comment on Lana's new career. He steadfastly ignored them. He thought he heard the words 'Demon Prosecutor' rise above the din, and he clutched at his elbow and slammed the glass doors behind him as he hurried toward the stairwell.

The ceremony took place on the tenth floor. It was a formal affair, and he had put aside his usual coat in favor of a simpler black-tie tux. Lana stood stiffly on the small stage as the new Chief of Police, Damon Gant, introduced her. She was wearing a low-cut, dark red evening gown paired with an elegant long red scarf. She looked at the well-dressed crowd with steely eyes, as though she knew what most of the other prosecutors in attendance were thinking: she didn't belong with them.

In her short acceptance speech she acknowledged her lack of experience. She also argued that courtrooms were little different from crime scenes, and her knowledge of police work would serve as a bridge between those who collected the evidence and those who would use it to put criminals away. Edgeworth expected to see her become more animated during her speech, to see some of the passion she had when they coordinated on the Darke trial, but she remained ramrod straight and made only small gestures.

Her speech was to-the-point, and Edgeworth watched his peers mull over her words. He, on the other hand, did not concentrate on her words so much as on how she delivered them. The Lana Skye he had worked with not so long ago had been vibrant, cheerful, and determined. Now, something in her bearing, in her eyes, betrayed a change in her. She was more distant, colder. He wondered at that, and, he had to admit, he felt as reassured as he was puzzled by her changed demeanor. Perhaps she understood the responsibility of her new position, and had adopted a more somber attitude in deference to it. If that were the case… she might work well as the Chief after all.

After the speeches and ceremony, the mingling began. A small band had been hired for the occasion, and light jazzy music floated through the air as the prosecutors and other officials sipped expensive cocktails and swayed on the dance floor. A few of his coworkers had asked Edgeworth to dance, but he had politely declined. He seldom engaged in social affairs, and he did not want to spend his evening pretending to be charmed by his insipid peers.

Instead, Edgeworth approached the corner where Lana was greeting her new subordinates. The police chief loomed behind her, his booming laugh audible from across the room. She caught his eye as she took a sip of her drink, and she maneuvered her way to him. Her dress swished about her ankles as she moved. "Miles Edgeworth. It is a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, Chief Prosecutor Skye." He tilted forward slightly in a small bow. "Congratulations on your promotion. I hope you'll bring the same dedication to your new office that you did as a detective."

"Thank you." She tilted her head to the side a bit and peered at him thoughtfully. "You are the first person this evening to have told me 'congratulations' and meant it, at least a little. Surely you must have some reservations about my new role?"

He thought quickly as he straightened. She was his superior now, and his answer could have great repercussions on his career. He slipped on his mask of confidence and smirked. "To be perfectly honest, I do have my share of doubts. Never before has anyone so young and so new to the profession held the title of Chief." He shook his head as he gestured toward her. "However, I have had the opportunity to work with you. I believe you will learn quickly and will guide us justly."

The corners of her mouth turned up and her eyes softened, just a little. She looked more like the Lana Skye he was familiar with. "Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth."

"Ahh, Worthy!" Edgeworth felt a broad hand clap down on his shoulder suddenly and he jumped, startled. "I'm glad to see you here." He shifted and looked behind him into the grinning face of Damon Gant.

"Chief Gant." He tried to dislodge himself from Gant's hold, but the man's fingers held on tightly.

"Isn't this a happy reunion?" Gant's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure you'll give my former partner the utmost respect in her new position, won't you, Worthy?"

"Of course, Sir." He felt uneasy; Gant's presence always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"And I know Chief Skye will be happy to work with a familiar face. Isn't that right, Lana?"

"Yes, that's right." Her expression had shifted back to a neutral state, her tone flat.

Gant didn't seem to notice. "We have a lot to look forward to, I think. A brilliant mind at the police station, and a brilliant mind at the prosecutor's office. And you too, Worthy, Manny's wonderful protégé. You proved yourself quite capable with the Darke trial."

"Thank you, Sir." Edgeworth narrowed his eyes, wondering just how well the new police chief was acquainted with his mentor.

Gant laughed, the sound loud in Edgeworth's ear. "We've all benefitted tremendously from the Darke trial, haven't we? People will be watching, making sure we're a cut above, making no mistakes."

The police chief was looking directly at Lana, and Edgeworth sensed something pass unspoken between them. Gant's stare turned sharp. "Rumors have a way of spreading, don't they?"

She squared her shoulders, standing defiant. "Rumors will affect neither my office nor my subordinates."

"Good to hear!" Gant finally released Edgeworth's shoulder to clap his hands together. "Carry on, then. Lots of people to say hello to."

Lana drew in a sharp breath and released it quickly once the police chief walked away. "Well, Mr. Edgeworth. He is correct – it will be good to work with you once more."

Edgeworth rolled his shoulder, as if he could shake off the feeling of Gant's heavy hand. "I'm looking forward to it, Ms. Skye."

They stood awkwardly, neither one sure of how to end the conversation. She took one final sip of her drink and placed the empty glass on the table behind her. "Join me for a dance, Mr. Edgeworth?"

The refusal was on his lips, but she had turned her gaze on him again. It was hard to tell what she was thinking – there was something solid and determined in her eyes, and something that made her seem immeasurably sad. She offered her hand toward him, and he found himself taking it.

They headed into the throng on the dance floor as the band started up a new song. She settled her other hand on his shoulder and he placed his on her waist, holding her lightly. Her dress was smooth. They fell into a simple box step, turning in circles.

He could feel the eyes of their peers on them as they moved. Lana stood a few inches shorter than him, though with her heels she was closer to his height. They matched each other step for step and Lana's scarf flowed out behind her, a shadow following after them. He thought she moved quite gracefully. Even without any mirrors, Edgeworth imagined they made a striking image on the dance floor.

"Mr. Edgeworth." He turned his head toward her, but she was looking away from him. "I wish to thank you again for your work in the Joe Darke trial."

"I was merely doing my job, Ms. Skye. Criminals like him must be put away for good." He was actually quite proud of his work on the trial. Darke was, without a doubt, a monstrous killer. He felt better knowing that such a man could hurt no one else.

"I know the circumstances of the trial were strange." Her voice was low, and he wondered which part of the trial she was referencing. The evidence was a bit shaky, though enough for him to win a conviction. Her sister had provided sketchy testimony – literally, as the poor girl could only draw a picture of what she witnessed. There were also rumors that Lana's romantic involvement with one of the detectives on the case had ended due to the trial.

She was personally connected to the case in so many ways. It had brought her tremendous opportunity, with her promotion, but had cost her a great deal as well.

She finally looked toward him as they spun around. "You got swept up into it, too." Her mouth was turned down, brows dipped in a small frown. "There are many rumors now – about me, and about you too."

He clenched his jaw. "I am well aware of the media's fixation with the case, and the moniker they have given me."

"The rumors are not restrained to just the press." The hand on his shoulder squeezed slightly. "I am sorry that you must endure it."

"It's not a problem, Ms. Skye. People will always speak as they wish, but it will not stop me from convicting the guilty."

"I am happy to hear that." She gave him a tight, sad smile before she closed her eyes. She turned her head aside once more and leaned forward slightly, almost resting against his shoulder. "I…" She didn't finish.

The song wound down. Edgeworth leaned her back, finishing the dance with an elegant dip. Most men would have taken the opportunity to glance at her cleavage, but he kept his eyes on Lana's face. When she rose, that dead look was in her eyes again, and he wondered what had changed so much to put it there.

He didn't know what to say to her; he was never the best at casual conversation. Now that the dance was over, he had no reason to be near her. Rather than stand around awkwardly again, he gave her a small bow and hurriedly excused himself.

He darted his eyes around the room. Many people were glancing between him and the Chief Prosecutor, and he imagined he could already hear their whispers. His eyes fell on the police chief, who was watching him intently. When he met Edgeworth's gaze he flashed him an unnerving, ear-splitting grin.

Edgeworth felt like he was enclosed in a very small space, like he couldn't pull enough air into his lungs. He pushed through the crowd toward the exit and took the stairs as fast as he could.


	2. Spark

_She was polite but distant._

Edgeworth's workload steadily increased after the ceremony. The media grew more and more fascinated with him and his flawless record, and the "Demon Prosecutor" nickname stuck. He even heard some of his co-workers, prosecutors and staff alike, whisper it behind his back.

It didn't matter. Let them think what they will.

Edgeworth was pleased to tackle more complicated, higher profile assignments. The cases were delegated by his superiors in the prosecutor's office. A few he received from his mentor, von Karma, with explicit expectations for a perfect verdict. Many of them were rotated to him after other prosecutors passed them up as unwinnable. He particularly enjoyed proving them wrong.

Some of his cases he received from the Chief Prosecutor herself. Those were some of the trickier cases, ones where the police narrative or the evidence was a little murky. They often came with detailed notes from Lana, outlining particular aspects of the investigation to pay attention to.

Lana occasionally delivered the files to him herself. He learned to anticipate her arrival based on his secretary's announcement.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth." There was a light knock at his door before Hannah slipped it open a bit. She only used his title, instead of simply 'Mr. Edgeworth,' when higher officials visited him. "The Chief Prosecutor is here to see you."

He nodded and moved aside a ream of papers on his desk. "Please send her in." Hannah disappeared and was replaced by the Chief Prosecutor's silhouette.

Lana closed the door behind her, a stack of files in her arms. She walked swiftly and laid the pile on his desk, and arranged the files as she spoke.

"You have been assigned a new case," she said, foregoing any greeting.

"So it seems," he replied slowly, watching her hands scurry over the papers.

She gave him a sharp glare. "Pre-meditated murder. Both the victim and the accused are government officials. Handle this one carefully."

"Of course. It will have my full attention once I finish the paperwork for my previous case."

"The trial begins tomorrow morning." She straightened, holding one arm behind her back. Such a posture taken by another person might have seemed obedient or submissive, but Lana carried it with authoritative grace.

"I see." He glanced at the two loads of work on his desk, calculating how long he would end up staying in his office. He'd be there until the early hours at least.

Lana's face softened, and she gave him a sympathetic glance. "You are more than qualified to handle this case. I have the utmost confidence in your ability." Almost as quickly as that flicker of emotion manifested, she resumed her stony stare.

He wanted to go home and sleep but dared not show any sign of that wish. Indeed, he had just been paid a compliment. "Thank you, Chief Skye. I will ensure that justice is done."

He let out a long sigh once she'd left, and worked steadily through the night.

* * *

Late nights became more and more common.

Edgeworth had installed a plush sofa in his office under the pretext of providing more comfortable seating for visitors. In reality, he spent more time on it himself. It offered a welcome change from his desk chair late in the evening, where he could be more comfortable as he worked through frequent all-nighters.

He woke with a start on the sofa one early morning. The grey light of dawn was just beginning to peer through the windows, allowing lingering shadows to loom around him. Those shadows transformed his office into the place that haunted his dreams. He blinked quickly, ridding his vision of the elevator from his nightmare. A glance at the clock informed him that he had managed a few hours' sleep; he could hurry home to bathe and return in time for the trial.

As he rose, a pink coverlet slipped down from him onto the floor. He looked at it, puzzled, before gingerly picking it up. Where on earth had it come from? It could not have been his; he had no memory of owning such a blanket, much less bringing it to work.

He folded it neatly and placed it on the sofa, and tested the office door – still locked. He frowned as he left for home, and wondered about it as he stood under the warming spray of his shower.

It was gone from Edgeworth's mind, though, once he began the trial. It came close, closer than he would have liked. The judge had appeared willing to extend the trial for one more day before Edgeworth laid out his logic and utterly destroyed the defense's case.

As he began working on the post-trial paperwork in his office later that afternoon, he was visited by the Chief Prosecutor. He was surprised to learn that she had attended the trial.

"There is a lot to admire in your technique," she said, staring at the sunset through the windows behind him. The light made her skin look unusually pale, drained. "Much that the other prosecutors can learn."

"I have been trained by the best," he said. "Perhaps if others had the opportunity to study under von Karma's tutelage, they could improve their records."

She said nothing, her gaze far away on the horizon. He felt a slow annoyance burn in his chest. If she had nothing else to say, she should leave – but he couldn't dismiss his own superior. He focused his attention on his paperwork, hoping that she would pick up his cue and leave him alone.

"Edgeworth." She was standing before him, next to his desk. When had she moved so close?

He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

She leaned toward him, dipping her head slightly. "Do not let the expectations of others get the better of you. Spend time away from here. Even the best must have their rest."

He felt his mouth twitch at her inadvertent rhyme and found his voice again. "Perhaps you should take that advice yourself, Ms. Skye."

She ducked her head down, hiding her eyes, and he saw her make a rueful smile. "Thank you, but I will be fine." She stood tall once more. "After all, there can be no rest for the wicked."

He frowned, wondering if her words were a veiled insult toward him. He watched her as she walked to the door. She paused as she passed by his sofa, her head turning toward the blanket he had forgotten about, before she closed his door with a quiet click.

His eyes widened as suspicions tumbled around in his head.

* * *

Those suspicions grew incrementally as the weeks passed. Edgeworth paid as much attention as he could spare to Lana's movements, and learned that though she delivered case files herself in some instances, she took the time to do so with him more often than with others.

He had poured over the latest batch she'd sent him and noticed a discrepancy in the evidence list. It must have been a mistake, or an oversight. He gathered the papers and headed toward the Chief Prosecutor's office. As he greeted her secretary he heard a man's heated voice echo past the closed door.

"There must be something you can do! Just look at his last trial – the witness left out information about the phone call. Who do you think told her to do that? If that's not manipulation, I don't know what is!"

"Lower your voice." The Chief Prosecutor spoke icily, just loud enough to interrupt her visitor.

"But-"

"I will not…" Her voice was not loud enough to carry through the walls. Edgeworth felt a weight settle in his stomach; he was willing to bet that _he_ was the topic of that conversation. He shifted closer to the door.

"…concerns have been noted. You are free to file a formal complaint. However, your evaluation will reflect your tendency to spend your time on grievances rather than increasing your own caseload. Bear that in mind as you go through the proper channels."

There was a pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps moving quickly. Edgeworth had just enough time to move a few feet away from the door before it was yanked open violently by one of the prosecutors on the ninth floor. Edgeworth recognized him: he had taken over one of the man's more recent cases and, despite its difficulty, secured a guilty verdict. What was his name? Brownstone? Browning? Whatever his name, he saw Edgeworth standing by the wall and his nostrils flared.

Edgeworth met his angry stare head-on. "I overheard part of your conversation with the Chief. If you have a concern about someone, you should confront them," he said, letting his voice slip into that register he used in court when belittling defense attorneys.

The man narrowed his eyes and moved past Edgeworth, his shoulder just barely brushing against the younger prosecutor. Edgeworth let him walk a few steps away before he allowed his lips to pull up in a smirk. "However, if your concerns are about _me_, then by all means, let me know now." He spread his hands out, as if inviting criticism.

Brown-whatever turned on his heel. "You know damn well that case should have been thrown out. If the court heard that lady's entire story, you wouldn't have won."

Edgeworth shook his head. "The court heard what was needed for the trial. Perhaps if you had culled the unnecessary elements from the witness's statement, you might have salvaged the case yourself. Don't blame others for your own inadequacies."

Leaving the man fuming, he entered the Chief Prosecutor's office and closed the door behind him.

Lana was standing by the foot of her desk gathering folders into her arms. Edgeworth remained by the door. "Chief Skye."

She glanced toward him. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she headed to a filing cabinet. "Edgeworth."

She opened the bottom drawer and leaned over to put away the folders. Her skirt, while not short, rose as she bent down, revealing the smooth skin of the backs of her legs. Edgeworth diverted his gaze and moved to the other side of the office, looking at the pictures on her walls.

"Was there something you needed?" She sounded somewhat irritated.

"Do you often get complaints like that from the other prosecutors?" The question slipped out before he could rein it in. He was glad his back was to her, hiding his bewildered face.

"Sometimes." He heard the cabinet slam closed. "There are concerns about your methods, Edgeworth, but they are unsubstantiated. No one can produce solid evidence; they just spew empty air full of rumors."

Her heels clicked on the floor as she moved toward him, and he was startled to feel a hand on his upper arm. Edgeworth turned in her grasp and Lana wrapped her fingers around his other arm. She kept some distance between them, her arms extended out from her, but held on firmly. She looked at him fiercely.

"I know you care passionately about putting away criminals. I also know that you do whatever it takes to meet that goal. You have done nothing illegal," she said, her fingers tightening, "yet."

He stiffened. "Chief Skye, if you are implying–"

"I am merely telling you to take care. There are those who would scrutinize your every move." Her face softened, as did her voice. "We are all under such scrutiny."

He met her eyes at that moment, dark blue and rich and strong and vulnerable and so, so human. He was sharply reminded of how she used to be, open and cheerful, and how much she had changed since becoming the Chief Prosecutor. How could one woman be such a contradiction?

They both fell still, and Edgeworth became acutely aware of how close she was to him. His traitorous pulse sped up and he feared, irrationally, that she could feel it through his coat, through her fingertips. He could feel a sense of panic settling in his chest, and he looked away from her.

She let go, and his skin felt warm where her hands had been.

She took a step back and folded her arms. "Did you need me to sign something?" she asked, nodding toward the papers he'd forgotten in his hands.

"N-No. I needed clarification on a discrepancy in the evidence list for the case you just assigned to me." His words flowed out while his head was busy righting itself.

"Let me see." She quickly skimmed over the document, closed her eyes for a moment, and gave a short, almost inaudible sigh. "This list appears out-of-date. I will contact Chief Gant to send you a more recent version."

"Thank you."

His hand was on the doorknob when Lana spoke again. "Mr. Edgeworth."

He glanced back over his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, tinged with sadness. "Take care," she said once more.


	3. Ignition

_But things slowly started to change._

Edgeworth was fairly certain that Lana Skye was looking out for him, for some unfathomable reason. He was still trying to sort out his emotions about that knowledge.

Part of him felt insulted. He was one of the most gifted prosecutors in the district, if not the nation. He did not need a babysitter!

His mouth twitched slightly as he amended his thought. She wasn't acting like a babysitter; more like a distant… ally. His lips pursed in a slight moue as he stirred the spoon around in his cup.

Did she think of him as a friend? It was difficult to tell, and he knew his own ineptitude at sociability. She didn't make demands of him or acknowledge him only when he succeeded, unlike von Karma, the only other authority figure had extensive experience with. She demonstrated no constant competition with him nor asked any favors, like his other coworkers – nor whacked him with riding crops, as did his adopted sister.

Lana was cordial with him, polite. She spoke with him fairly frequently, and deflected allegations regarding his methods as best as she could. He cast his mind further back, reminiscing about schooling and friends. The last time he had true friends was before he moved to Germany. He spent a moment mulling over those memories before he tapped his spoon, a little more forcefully than usual, against the rim of his cup and took a deep sip of his tea.

Why was he thinking about such things? He scowled at his waste bin. He'd received a letter from one of his elementary school friends, asking if the media's rumors about him were true. Ignoring the fact that it was either touching or spectacularly creepy that such an old acquaintance tried to get in contact with him, the letter had prompted him to reflect on his various relationships. He couldn't identify where he stood with the Chief Prosecutor, and he blamed that uncertainty and the letter for his sour mood.

A loud knock at his office door brought him out of his reverie; his secretary must have stepped away from her desk. "Come in."

Detective Gumshoe stepped inside. "Mr. Edgeworth, Sir, the blood analysis came through. It was our guy, all right." He handed the prosecutor the lab results.

Edgeworth nodded. "Thank you, Detective. That should prove helpful for the trial tomorrow."

Gumshoe grinned, his chest puffing out. "That's good!"

Edgeworth settled back into his chair. "Was there anything else, Detective?"

Gumshoe gave him a sheepish grin. "Oh, uh, no, I guess that's it." He shuffled back, then halted. "Actually, me and some of the boys were going to this noodle stand for dinner. You're welcome to come with us if you want, Sir."

Edgeworth stared at the detective, wondering how the man could find _noodles_ so appealing, much less how he thought the prosecutor would enjoy eating with 'the boys.' "I have a full case ahead of me, Gumshoe. I have no time to dine out tonight."

"Oh. Hey, that's okay." Gumshoe smiled. "You keep working hard, Sir! We'll get some extra noodles for you and hold them at the station till the next time you stop by."

He fought to keep the grimace off his face. "How thoughtful. Good afternoon, Detective."

"Break a leg, pal! Er, well, not really, Sir, but… you know." Edgeworth waved off the detective and returned to his case.

The thought occurred to him later in the evening, in the middle of reading personnel files, that Detective Gumshoe might consider him a friend. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, picturing himself awkwardly sharing noodles with the big oaf.

* * *

It was past midnight when a loud crack of thunder interrupted his thoughts. Edgeworth watched the rain for a moment, his eyes tracing the droplets as they streaked down his windows. They caught the never-ending light from the surrounding skyscrapers, glowing gold; it was rather pretty.

He had just finished fixing a batch of tea. Normally Hannah took care of the brewing, but during the night the office kitchen was closed and he had to resort to instant brew. He'd taken to drinking Earl Grey late at night, and he waited for it to cool as he contemplated the evidence file.

There was a jingling noise at his door; it was being unlocked. The custodians normally did their rounds in the hours before daybreak. Curious, he swung his door open.

The Chief Prosecutor stumbled as the door unexpectedly swung away from her while she still had the keys in the lock. She quickly pulled them out and clutched at the folders in her other arm, and she actually looked surprised. "Mr. Edgeworth."

"Is there something you need, Ms. Skye?" he asked. Apparently the Chief could enter his office at any time; he wished he'd been informed of that fact earlier.

"I thought…" She looked past Edgeworth into his office before settling her gaze on him again. Her eyes drifted over his forearms, where he had rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and traveled up to his bare neck, normally hidden by the cravat that was carefully folded with his coat over his desk chair.

She snapped her eyes back to his face. "I wondered if you had gone home for the evening."

"As you can see, I'm still here," he drawled, amused at seeing her momentarily disoriented.

"Indeed." She schooled her expression back to its practiced neutral stare.

He stepped back, holding the door open. "Are you coming in?"

She lifted her chin slightly and entered.

He moved back to his desk to retrieve his tea. "Do you often enter prosecutors' offices so late at night?" he asked. He was careful to keep his tone light; such a question might be construed as an accusation.

Lana stood straight, clenching her folders tightly. "If I have information that must be delivered immediately, yes."

So that was it. Of course the Chief Prosecutor would have unfettered access to her subordinates' offices. She had a great responsibility over all of them, and would need to be able to meet with them or retrieve evidence or files at a moment's notice. He felt a twinge of unease, knowing that the Chief could move at will throughout the building, but quickly dismissed it. Ms. Skye had proven herself to be a capable, dependable, and honest person; he severely doubted she would abuse her privilege.

He turned back toward her. "Then, do you have new information for me? Something for the trial tomorrow?"

She glanced down at her folders and breathed out a long sigh. "No, I do not."

And that was the decisive evidence. The mysterious pink blanket, and her purposeless visit now, led to one conclusion. "Then, with all due respect, why are you here?"

She shifted her weight back onto one foot, leaning toward the door. "I'm…"

He arched one of his brows. "Checking in on me?" Edgeworth glanced up from the rim of his tea cup; she was still giving him that careful, neutral stare. It wasn't an affirmation, but neither was it a denial.

As much as he felt affronted by her unwarranted concern, there was another part of him that was also rather touched by it. He saw an image of Gumshoe, shoulders shrugging as he offered to share some noodles. That damned letter also flashed through his mind, with its claims of friendship and a desire to meet again.

"Ms. Skye." He lowered his cup and gestured toward it. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" he asked slowly, feeling uncertain but doing all that he could not to show it.

Lana was evidently not expecting such an offer. She blinked, her eyes widening for a brief second. "I-" She cut herself off, and tilted her head slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. I'd like that."

Edgeworth nodded and moved to his tea set to prepare another cup. He was grateful to have a moment to collect his thoughts – and to chastise himself. What reason did he have to be sociable with the Chief Prosecutor? And why was it so difficult to allow such openness? He wasn't certain which question bothered him most.

After a moment the leaves were steeped and he nodded toward his sofa. "Have a seat," he said, and handed Lana the cup once she was settled. He moved his own office chair to sit across from her.

She took a tentative sip of the tea, and to his amazement her eyes crinkled and she smiled – a true smile, with nothing wistful or sad about it. "Earl Grey," she said, crossing her legs and taking another drink. It was like she became a whole other person with that smile – or rather, became the Lana he was once familiar with.

"It's instant, I'm afraid," he said, unsure of how to respond to her sudden shift in mood.

"Even if it's instant, it is one of my favorite teas," she said. She breathed in the scent of the drink, closing her eyes. "It reminds me of my time in law school."

"Oh?" He felt idiotic for making such a simple statement, completely unprepared.

"There was a friend I used to drink it with when we'd study in the evenings, although she preferred coffee." She looked into her cup, swirling the liquid around.

She had never shared so much about herself, at least in Edgeworth's own recent experiences with her. He felt he was expected to say something in return. "I grew fond of it in Germany."

Her expression changed to one of mild curiosity. "With Prosecutor von Karma, right?"

So she knew something of his background. He wondered if she'd learned the reason why he'd gone to Germany in the first place. "Yes, that's right. I had the opportunity to become accustomed to many different varieties." Lana nodded, her face neutral once again, but it wasn't the practiced stony control she usually exhibited. "It's a favorite of mine as well," he finished.

They each took another sip. In the quiet, the sound of the rain rhythmically beating against the glass was almost hypnotic. Edgeworth crossed his own legs, relaxing his posture. They looked at each other for a long moment, the air tense with… something.

He turned his gaze toward the large windows and she followed suit. They watched the rain fall, lost in their own thoughts.

Edgeworth realized just how tired he was, now that he had taken a moment to stop working. He knew he needed to rest soon if he were to conduct the trial properly tomorrow. And, he also knew, he was being a terrible conversationalist.

He quickly finished his tea, set the cup back on his desk, and began carefully placing papers in his briefcase. He felt Lana's eyes following him, watching his movements. She didn't say anything more, though.

He noticed her draining her cup as he was shrugging on his coat. He offered her his hand, hoping she'd take the hint and leave his office. Even though he was expecting it, he was still startled when she grasped his fingers. The office was adequately warm, but compared to the heat from her hand it felt positively cold.

Lana stood, and their hands held together just a moment longer than necessary. Then she placed her empty cup next to his and retrieved her keys and the folders from the sofa cushion, scowling at them a little as she picked them up. "Thank you for the tea, Mr. Edgeworth," she said as she followed him out the door.

"You're welcome," he replied, locking it. "Are you staying here?"

"For a little while longer, yes." She shifted forward and, after hesitating a moment, placed her hand against his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Get some rest. You'll do just fine tomorrow."

He smirked, wrapping himself in his aura of confidence, and ignored the warm feeling in his chest. "Of course I will."

She smiled slightly and let go. He watched her as she walked back down the hall, her heels clicking loudly against the floor.


	4. Slow Burn

_A subtle warmth grew._

They both had demanding schedules. Aside from his mentor, Edgeworth took on more cases than any other prosecutor in the district, and Lana spent more and more time with Police Chief Gant. But despite their busyness, they still saw each other often. They'd nod as they passed in the hallways, exchange greetings and chitchat in the stairwell, and talk over cases in their offices.

It was just past noon as Edgeworth exited the police station. The district was in a flurry over an apparent serial arsonist. The entire department had met for a morning briefing – which had been a waste of time, in Edgeworth's opinion – and the detectives tumbled past him out the doors.

A large minivan had parked itself in the middle of the lot and most of the officers were forming an unruly line around it. Edgeworth took a few steps toward the vehicle to see what was so intriguing about an ordi–

Actually, it was not an ordinary van. It was painted brown, white, and red, rather like a…bento box?

A blonde-haired woman was standing at the back of the van with an oversized basket hanging off of her arm. She was distributing boxes from the carrier in exchange for cash, and the officers jostled each other to receive the next one. As Edgeworth moved closer, aromas from a multitude of foods assaulted his sense of smell. Ah: this was a food truck.

He decided he would rather have his meal somewhere more reputable, and began heading toward his own vehicle when he heard his name called out behind him. "Is that Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

He turned and found himself confronted by the blonde woman. He recognized her: she was part of the police team during the Darke investigation. "Detective Starr, wasn't it?"

Her smile froze in place. "You haven't heard? It's just Angel Starr now, Lunchland Lady."

"Oh. I… I see." He wondered if she had chosen to leave the force, or if she had done something to merit being dismissed. She had seemed perfectly capable during their investigation. He crossed his arms, trying to hide his unease. Should he ask what happened? Offer condolences?

Instead, he drew in a quick breath and chose the third option: politely excusing himself. "Well, Ms. Starr, it seems you have quite the set of eager customers. Please don't let me keep you from them." He took a step back but was stopped by Angel's hand at his elbow.

"Mr. Edgeworth," she said, her sharp red nails digging into his skin, "why don't you try one of our meals? It's on the house." She shuffled around in her basket. He waited, tapping his arm, and she pulled out a box twice as large as the others, which he reluctantly accepted.

Angel smiled. "Here you go. The first layer is filled with treats and sweets that you'll melt for." She returned her hand to his arm and ran her palm down its length, sidling close to him. He could smell her perfume. "I'm sure you'll need the _extra energy_," she said, words dripping with innuendo. His eyes widened, scandalized, until she added, "working so hard at the prosecutor's office."

There was something in her voice, at the end, that made her sound bitter. He tried to shift away but she stayed close. "What goes on over there, now that Detective Skye is in charge?"

Edgeworth finally wrangled himself out of her reach. He remembered hearing rumors about Angel's numerous boyfriends and had no intention of becoming another notch on her bedpost. He decided to take a more forceful approach. "I don't think that's any business of a lunch lady, Ms. Starr."

She tossed her head, her hair falling over her eyes, and gave him a hard look. "You're all the same, aren't you? High and mighty prosecutors who don't care what it takes to win." She nodded toward the food in his hands. "Be careful with the bottom layer – it'll burn your tongue, our _Sugar and Spice_ set." Her body was stiff, her eyes cold.

She suddenly smiled sweetly and handed him another box. "Give this one to Lana, won't you? I think it suits her well. It starts out sweet," she said, and then her features hardened again into a cold, angry frown, "until it gets sour."

He stood still, stunned at her shifts in demeanor, as she returned to her customers.

* * *

The Chief Prosecutor stopped by his office later that evening. "Ms. Skye," he said, rising to fix her a cup of tea.

"Working late again, Mr. Edgeworth?" she asked.

"As are you, it seems."

He saw her glance over the case files on his bookshelf as he poured the water; surprisingly, she had come empty-handed. "I heard you had a run-in with Ms. Starr," she said.

"Yes, I did." He came to her side and handed her the cup.

"Thank you." The corners of her mouth pulled up, not quite making a smile as she accepted it. "I apologize if the situation was uncomfortable."

That was not what he was expecting. "Why are you apologizing?"

She kept her gaze on the files as she spoke. "Ms. Starr was recently fired from the police for unsatisfactory performance. She hasn't taken it well."

"That's understandable. But she seemed quite comfortable in her new position."

Lana gave him a sidelong look, one eyebrow raised.

Edgeworth thought over what they'd just said, and the rumors about Angel, and blanched. "That's not- I didn't mean-" He firmly shut his mouth and returned to his desk, and pretended to be deeply interested in whatever sheet of paper was in front of him.

To his astonishment, Lana chuckled. It lasted for only a moment, the sound low. "I understand what you meant."

She turned and noticed the two lunch boxes on the corner of his desk. "It seems she sent you back with some souvenirs."

He had forgotten about the lunches. Of course he never intended to eat the one meant for him, but given Angel's ambiguous insult and her strange hostility, he'd decided not to give the Chief the other box.

Lana's lips pursed as she considered the lunches. "She still knows how to get her point across to me," she said, her finger tracing the print labeling the _Sweet and Sour Chicken_ set. She had a distant look in her eyes.

"I was going to give those to Detective Gumshoe," Edgeworth said quickly.

"Oh?" Both of her brows rose up.

"The man could use a decent meal or two." He tried to appear unconcerned.

She stared, then her eyes widened slightly and her face softened. "You… really do have a kind heart, Mr. Edgeworth."

"I was merely being practical."

She studied him a moment longer, then moved behind him and glanced out of his window, sipping her tea. Edgeworth concentrated on his paperwork. A comfortable silence descended between them, with the quiet scratching of Edgeworth's pen the only sound in the room.

He was startled when she placed her empty cup on his desk. "Mr. Edgeworth. Would you care to have dinner with me?" She was looking at him, standing tall and straight with one arm behind her back, and wearing her usual neutral expression, betraying nothing. His felt a strange lurch in his chest as he considered.

Was she asking as his superior? He briefly heard von Karma's voice in his head, urging him to take advantage of the offer in order to advance his position.

Was she asking out of some sense of obligation for the lunch boxes? Perhaps; he knew she had a sense of personal responsibility when it came to her subordinates' inconveniences.

Or was she asking as something other than a colleague? This last possibility was the most concerning, and intriguing. Once again he wondered whether Lana Skye considered him a friend.

He found his resistances yielding. "Did you have someplace in mind?"

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before she answered. "There is a small café near here. It would be a short walk."

He stood and reached for his coat. "Don't bother," she said. "It's very warm tonight." He noticed she was not wearing her usual brown jacket, sporting just an elegant white blouse. He folded his coat over his arm instead, packed his briefcase, and locked up for the night.

* * *

The café was only a few blocks away from their offices. They walked close together against the streaming lines of people, their shoulders occasionally brushing against one another. Downtown was usually busy most evenings, but Fridays brought out the crowds of weekend revelers.

Lana kept a brisk pace. She eventually nodded her head at a side street and headed towards a building on the corner. Several small wrought-iron tables were scattered in front of the entrance, with couples sitting close together at most of them.

He followed Lana inside. "Table for Skye," she said firmly. The host glanced at a sheet posted to the side of his station, and his brows rose and he nodded, and ushered them onto a back terrace. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow himself; what had the Chief done to be able to command a table at will?

A wooden fence surrounded the terrace and tall long-leafed plants and flowers grew along it, secluding the deck from the loud sounds and litter of the city. The air was thick with the scents of the flowers. No other patrons were outside here, though a busboy was clearing off a nearby table. The host silently handed them menus and scurried back inside.

"The pastas are good," Lana said, quickly glancing over the menu before setting it aside. Edgeworth nodded, reading the descriptions for each item. It was a good excuse to keep from making awkward small talk. He followed her advice and chose one of the farfalle dishes while Lana ordered them glasses of merlot. Once the waitress hurried back inside, the two of them were left alone on the patio.

Summers in Los Angeles meant the sun lingered into the evening. A nearby church-tower clock chimed the hour: a quarter to nine. It was just dark enough for the café to turn on the strings of lights outside, which glowed softly. The patio seemed like a surreal, city-bound secret garden.

"How did you discover this café?" Edgeworth finally decided on something appropriate to say when their wine was delivered. He leaned back in the hard metal chair and crossed his leg, assuming a relaxed posture that hopefully made him appear more at ease than he felt.

"I used to come here with Chief Gant, back when we were partners on the force," Lana said. He thought he heard something wistful in her tone. "We'd go over cases here, breaking mysteries as we broke bread."

They shared a small smile at her wordplay, but then Lana's eyes grew hard as she looked away. "He's far too busy these days, though. We both are, really. But I've wanted to come back again."

"Then I'm glad you've made the time with me this evening," Edgeworth said. She looked back at him, her eyes moving quickly back and forth between his own, and a strange tension settled between them. The moment felt long, though it must have only lasted a second, and Lana's face softened. There was something unusually warm in her expression that made the blood rise to his cheeks. He quickly took a sip from his glass of wine to hide what he feared was a _blush_. What had provoked that reaction?

"Should I ask what makes you an obvious VIP here?" he asked, trying to divert her attention.

"Nothing wicked, if that's what you're thinking," she said, and Edgeworth heard a slightly playful lilt in her voice that made his pulse speed up. She settled back into her chair, legs crossing and hands gesturing as she spoke, looking more lively than he'd seen her in a long time.

"We caught a thief here trying to make off with the register at gunpoint. The staff was terrified. When we arrived the thief fired a shot and took off. Thankfully no one was hurt. Damon chased after the thief while I cut him off in the alley. He plowed into me like a linebacker, but we wrestled him down and cuffed him.

"Turned out he took the chef's cookbook along with the money. While Damon read him his rights, I brought the cookbook back. The head chef was in tears and said it was filled with her grandmother's recipes. She promised we'd always have a table here."

Edgeworth blinked. "That's quite the story," he said, not expecting such an adventurous tale to answer his question.

He remembered how the Chief looked in her old officer's uniform and could picture the scene: Lana flashing her badge, pistol drawn. She was tough but slender, and they both probably fell when the thief ran into her. He felt a jab of some negative emotion when he imagined Lana struggling with the thief, rolling around on the ground. He rationalized it as stemming from his hatred of criminals, and tried to ignore the niggling voice that insisted the feeling was more about Lana than about the thief.

He instead pictured her smiling gently at the chef as she returned the recipes, and looking surprised and delighted at the prospect of having a permanent table. She was smiling now as she finished the story, sipping the red wine.

Lana moved her fingers across the designs of the table, tracing the hard lines of the wrought-iron. He could see her posture relaxing, tension seeping out of her.

"This is a good place to collect your thoughts," she said. She gestured toward the surrounding greenery. "Quiet, peaceful. Calming. Of all the other prosecutors, I think you need a place like this the most."

He quirked his brow. "And what makes you think that?"

"You spend more hours in your office than anyone else. It's good to go out sometimes and not stay cooped up. It can give you a fresh perspective."

Edgeworth frowned slightly. "Are you saying there is something wrong with the way I conduct my work?"

Lana shook her head. "No, your work is outstanding. I was just suggesting that even you, sometimes, might need to relax or to blow off steam."

"There are many ways to relax. I assure you, I'm quite capable of blowing off steam, Ms. Skye."

Her brows shot up and she reached for her wine. He saw her eyes over the rim of the glass, roaming over him. He wondered what she was thinking.

She swallowed hard and looked a little flushed. "Well then, Mr. Edgeworth, think of this as a place where you can work uninterrupted and get some sun at the same time. A little sunshine is good for your skin."

He smirked. "You mention the sun, but we're dining here while it disappears." He pointed at her, much like he did in court. "And my skin is no paler than your own."

"True." She was about to continue, but their banter was interrupted by a soft chirping noise. She reached down and pulled her cell phone out of her bag, and frowned at the display. "Excuse me, I need to take this," she said as she stood.

Edgeworth nodded, and he caught the beginning of the conversation as she moved a few steps away from their table. "Hi Ema… No, it's all right…"

He recognized the name: her sister. He remembered her from the Darke trial; she was quite a bit younger than Lana and obviously looked up to her. The last time he'd seen her she was still traumatized, and he hoped she had recovered well.

There was an excited shrieking noise from the phone, loud enough for Edgeworth to hear it, and he saw Lana cringe. He started to rise from his seat, but she ushered him to stay and retreated further away.

He idly watched Lana as she slowly paced back and forth. In the low light he saw that her skin really was quite pale, smooth and unblemished. It complemented her dark hair well. She was beautiful, but she usually closed herself off so much, physically and emotionally, it was easy to forget that.

Their food arrived while she was still talking, and he waited to eat until she returned. She was right: the pasta was delicious. He might return to this café some time, after all.

He felt obliged to ask about the noise over the phone. "It's nothing to be concerned about," she answered, looking faintly chagrined. "My sister is… She greatly admires you. She says hello, in a manner of speaking."

That screech seemed to indicate more than simple admiration, but he did not want to embarrass the Chief further. "Give her my greetings as well. I hope she is doing better."

Lana smiled. "She is. She studies all the time now; she wants to be a forensic investigator."

"I can sympathize. My adopted sister studied at all hours as well. Well, we usually studied together."

She nodded. "Your mentor's daughter, right?"

"Yes. She was – is – very ambitious. I expect you'll see her here in a few years." He calculated the time difference in his head; Franziska would be waking up soon, ready to take on the German courts. It was only a matter of time before she conquered the American ones as well.

"Is she a prosecutor as well?"

"All von Karmas are prosecutors."

"Including you."

"Including me."

They fell quiet, their attention on their food. He caught Lana looking over him again once they were done. "I can see a lot of your mentor's influence on you," she finally said.

He moved his plate aside. "He taught me how to manage trials perfectly. I only wish all prosecutors would learn his methods; so many more criminals would be put away."

She shook her head. "I meant in other ways. Your wardrobe, for example."

"First you criticize my skin, and now the clothes on it," he said, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice.

She gestured toward him. "You wear a lot of finery. I think it intimidates the other prosecutors."

"This is high-quality apparel," he bristled.

"Perhaps you should tone it down a little. It might help to make you more approachable, make the 'Demon Prosecutor' seem a little more like them." She looked down as she finished, voice growing softer.

He folded his arms. "I will consider it."

They split the check and headed for the parking garage once they arrived at the prosecutor's offices. They reached his vehicle first and Lana looked surprised as she took in the bright red sports car.

"You might convince me to give up my German coat, but I won't give up German engineering," he said as he unlocked the door, placing said coat and his briefcase in the empty passenger seat.

They stood next to his car, just looking at each other. Edgeworth wasn't sure of how to end the evening. Should he walk the Chief to her car? That seemed too much like something to do on a 'date.' Perhaps offer her a ride? That was even worse. He shifted awkwardly, on the verge of just getting into his car and driving off, when Lana spoke up.

"Thank you for accompanying me this evening, Edgeworth." She had resumed her usual neutral stare, but there was still something more open about her expression. "Perhaps one day we can do it again."

He smiled. "That would be enjoyable."

She stepped forward and placed her hand on his upper arm, and let it slide down. She took hold of his hand, squeezing gently, and held on for a long moment. Then she turned and started walking across the garage, leaving his hand feeling warm. He watched her until she moved out of sight, gave himself a mental shake, and finally got into his car and drove away.


	5. Inferno

**Author's notes:** Please note that the rating for this story has been changed to M, to reflect the content of this chapter.

* * *

_Until it reached fever pitch._

The prosecutor's office was busier than ever. Edgeworth had completed more high-profile cases and had obtained his guilty verdict each time. The more heinous the crime, the harder the defendants fought to escape, and the more determined he became to win. He found himself using more and more of the tricks von Karma had taught him in his own trials, and his faith in his mentor's methods strengthened with each conviction.

And with every victory, the rumor mill churned faster and louder. Reporters regularly attended his trials and he was featured at least once a month in their columns. He'd even managed to make it into one of the more popular weekly tabloids: the headline proclaimed _Demon Prosecutor makes deal with the Devil!_, accompanied by a poorly photo-shopped picture of him shaking hands with what was obviously a man wearing a rubber mask.

Detective Gumshoe had purchased a copy of the magazine for him, proudly handing it to the bewildered prosecutor. "You know you've made it big when _Oh! Cult_ puts you on the cover," Gumshoe said, beaming. When Edgeworth pointed out that the article didn't paint him in the best light, Gumshoe simply shrugged. "They just don't know you, Sir. But it's still nice to be featured – you should frame this!"

Edgeworth scowled. "This 'news' was hardly fit to print, let alone commemorate."

Gumshoe's face fell, and Edgeworth regretted his harsh tone. "But thank you for bringing this to my attention," he amended. "It was quite… amusing."

Less amusing was the mail that poured in. For every letter he received commending him for his work, there was a tear-stained one from a defendant's family begging for a re-trial. Occasionally he received a letter from his old school friend, Wright, claiming the prosecutor was still a 'good person.' Indignation bubbled up inside him whenever he received those notes until anger finally took over and he dumped them into the trash.

Worse still were the anonymous letters, the ones that promised him bodily injury, torture, or death. He was becoming inured to the hostile but ultimately empty threats, though every now and then he received a missive that made his skin crawl and his blood seethe.

He crumpled another such letter. Why couldn't these people understand what he was doing for them? For the good of the city? Instead of describing how they were going to burn down his office, they should be vigilant observers, ready to testify about crimes they had witnessed. It would be a much better and more productive use of their time as well as his own.

He swiveled around in his chair, staring out at the skyline. The afternoon sun was shining brightly, bathing the sky in rich light, so cheerful that the weather itself seemed to be mocking his bleak mood. He sighed.

"Are you okay, Sir?" he heard Gumshoe ask.

He was quiet for a long moment before he turned back and answered, his voice flat. "Just fine, Detective." Gumshoe still looked unsure, so he pulled up his lips in a smirk. "There's always more work to be done."

Gumshoe nodded. "I know what you mean, Sir. People aren't gonna arrest themselves." The detective lingered at his door, giving him one last look of concern, before leaving.

Edgeworth was a strong man; he knew this. He could endure any threat, withstand the rumors and whispers about him, and hold his ground in court. But putting up with it all could leave him feeling drained.

He just wanted to go home.

* * *

That evening he tried not to think about his upcoming trial, or the newspapers, or mail, or rumors, or anything having to do with his line of work.

He needed a distraction.

Usually, when he had a rare moment of free time, he would pick up one of his numerous tomes about international law, or perhaps a mystery novel, but both seemed unlikely to improve his dismal mood. Instead he idly flicked through the channels on his television, even as he chastised himself for wasting his time. He moved past the crime dramas and the news and paused on a bright, animated serial. He watched it for a few moments, entranced by the lush backgrounds and ridiculous battle scene, until a loud knock at his door startled him.

He quickly turned off the show. Few people knew where he lived and he was not expecting company. However, his wariness turned to puzzlement when he discovered the Chief Prosecutor standing at his door.

"Chief Skye," he said, frowning and standing stiffly in his doorway.

"Edgeworth," she said, squaring her shoulders. She was still dressed in her work clothes, with her brown jacket and red scarf wrapped snugly around her, and she carried an oversized tote. "May I come in?"

"Y-Yes," he said, hesitating for the briefest moment, before moving aside. The instant she was inside and the door was shut, he rounded on her. "What are you doing here?"

Lana blinked, her neutral expression briefly flickering. "I apologize for visiting you at home. I looked up your address since you were not in your office." Her tone was a confusing mixture of accusation and concern. She reached into her bag and pulled out a folder. "I have some vital information for your trial."

He moved in front of her, thinking over her explanation. Something seemed off.

"The trial doesn't begin until Tuesday. You could have left this for me in my office." He glanced at the folder: it was thin, holding only a few sheets of paper. If it truly contained such important information, he would have expected it to be thicker.

He looked back at Lana, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And Johnson is on the defense. I believe you hold the record for most wins against him, so you know better than anyone that I will have no problem securing a conviction with or without that information." She held his gaze, eyes wavering, but finally looked away.

He plucked the folder out of her fingers and walked around her, quickly rifling through the documents inside. The papers did indeed contain some minor details and corrections from Police Chief Gant that would make the trial go much faster, but it was nothing game-changing.

Like that day so long ago, when he first suspected who had left him the blanket for his all-nighters, he realized there was something more that the Chief Prosecutor was not saying. He considered the possibilities. She might have come to see him to deliver some sort of bad news, feeling obliged to do it in person. However, though she seemed anxious, he did not get the sense that was her purpose.

Perhaps she was here for a more personal matter. The thought did not irritate him as much as he would have expected.

He lightly tossed the folder onto an end table and fixed Lana with his best glare. "Chief Skye. Why are you _really_ here?"

Lana swallowed, her slender fingers clutched tightly at her bag, and she drew in a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. She moved forward, stopping a few steps away from him. "I came here first as the Chief Prosecutor, to give you whatever information I could find to help you." She paused, seeming to rally herself for her next statement. "But I also came here as a friend, Edgeworth."

He felt a not-unwelcome churn in his stomach as she said that: all those months of wondering, trying to uncover where he stood, and he finally had a definitive answer. But he wasn't expecting such an outright admission, and couldn't find the words to respond.

When he didn't say anything, she pressed on. "You've worked harder and had more success than anyone else. I understand the enormous pressure you put on yourself. I also know how hurtful rumors can be, even if you act like you don't care."

Edgeworth swallowed a hard lump in his throat and scowled. "So you're checking in on me again."

Different emotions warred inside him in quick succession. He was annoyed that she had interrupted his evening, and insulted that she didn't think he could handle the stress. But most of all, he felt shocked that she would visit him at his home just to show her concern. He knew there were plenty of other more worthwhile uses of her time. Why was she so determined to see him?

She was looking intently at him, and he felt heat rise to his cheeks.

She noticed, and a similar red flush appeared on her; but that seemed to be the cue she needed, and her face set in a determined expression. Lana let her bag slip onto his sofa and placed her hands on his upper arms. He had shed his jacket and cravat when he'd arrived home, and her hands felt hot through the cloth of his crisp dress shirt.

"Edgeworth. I know it can seem like the whole world is against you. I know the media and people keep hounding you and you want to keep that perfect record no matter what. And I know that sometimes you can feel like you're in this alone. But you're not."

Her right hand moved and brushed his bangs away from his eyes. He drew in a short, soft gasp and felt a huge weight settle on his chest, pressing down and making him acutely aware of his heartbeat. Lana shifted closer, and he could sense the warmth from her.

The air between them, what little could fit in that small space, was thick and still and intense.

Her voice was low. "We carry such heavy burdens, enough to crush us. So sometimes you have to take comfort wherever you can find it."

Her hand settled on the back of his neck, and he couldn't breathe, could hardly believe what she was doing. She lifted up onto her toes, she closed her eyes, she...

She gently pressed her lips against his.

His eyes flew wide and he flailed, gripping the back of the sofa behind him. She lingered a moment, her mouth unmoving but warm against his, before pulling back.

They spent a long moment just looking at each other. Edgeworth felt his pulse race, could feel the ghost of her touch on his lips. Her eyes were a dark blue, watching him expectantly.

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to hide, or just _move_, but he was frozen. So often he'd run away when he was uncomfortable, and now he failed to shift an inch.

Lana's hand slid around to rest against his chest. "I'm offering you that comfort now. Do you want it?"

She leaned toward him and paused just before touching her lips to him again, giving him time to push her away, and when he didn't she pressed firmly against him. She made little coaxing movements, trying to get him to respond, and finally, he pursed his lips and began returning the kiss.

This is what it all meant. All those moments of tension, of meaningful looks and excuses to talk, those cups of tea and dinner and fleeting touches, had slowly brought them to this. The pieces slid into place, the logic laid bare; it was almost calming. Lana cared about him. And, he was startled to discover, he cared for her as well.

She broke the kiss, moving back just enough to look into his grey eyes. "Do you want this?" she asked again, voice shaking slightly.

He brought his hand to her cheek and tilted her head. "Yes," he whispered against her lips before closing his mouth over hers.

She made a low noise in her throat and her lips parted. He swiped his tongue over her bottom lip, and against her own agile tongue, and felt an electric spark creep up his spine as he deepened the kiss. His other hand wrapped around her waist, molding into her soft curve.

His heart was pounding as the kiss sped up, their lips moving more frantically against each other. She was soft and warm, and she smelled like apples and tasted like them too. Lana Skye, cold, professional, distant Lana Skye, felt like fire and comfort and vibrant _life_ in his arms. How did she hide this away?

It had been a long time since Edgeworth had been intimate with another person, and every cell in his body urged him for more. He started walking forward, moving Lana backwards until she bumped up against the wall. He pressed close to her, reveling in the heat from her body, and began sliding his lips toward her neck. She hastily tore her red scarf away in time for him to mouth along that pale skin, licking and nipping and leaving a red mark of his own.

Lana's hands slid through his hair as he worked, mussing up his silvery bangs, until they reached his collar. She deftly undid the pearl buttons of his shirt one by one, her fingers leaving little trails of warmth where they skimmed against his skin. He wondered, distantly, brokenly, how far they were willing to go, now that the spark had ignited.

She pressed her palms against him, moving her hands slowly across his bared chest; her fingers brushed across his nipples and his breath hitched, and she hummed appreciatively. They slid further down, across his taut stomach, and rested against the hem of his pants.

Edgeworth groaned and slid his leg between hers, making her skirt ride up dangerously high. He had just gotten her jacket down around her shoulders when her hand slid lower still and pressed against him, her palm warm even through his trousers. He let out a strangled moan and buried his face in her neck again, trying hard not to just buck into her. Instead he let his hands roam down her sides, squeezing gently at her breasts and curves, until they rested on her thighs, his fingers just edging at the bottom of her skirt in turn. He thrilled at her resultant moan.

Lana leaned her head against the wall and gently pushed him back. "Bedroom?" she panted, her lids half-closed and her lips red and swollen. The word never sounded more perfect.

Edgeworth nodded, breathing hard, and led her toward the back of his home. She picked up her tote from the sofa, and once they reached his bedroom she gave him a reassuring look and disappeared into his bathroom.

Edgeworth stood still for a moment, taking deep breaths and trying to regain his composure. He shucked off his shirt and laid it over a chair, and after a moment's consideration he removed his trousers as well, leaving him in just his black boxer briefs. He turned on a table lamp, letting its soft glow fill the room instead of the harsh overhead light, and sat at the foot of his bed, waiting.

Should he allow this to happen? There was no denying the chemistry between them, now that he recognized it for what it was. She seemed to want this as much as he did; and with all the stresses in her life, could he really deny her one instance of letting go? He let out a low chuckle as he realized she probably thought the same of him. Most importantly, how would this affect their professional relationship? Simply put, it could not.

Thoughts and strategies for how to keep this personal incident out of their work life slipped out of his mind when the bathroom door creaked open. Lana stepped out wearing just her dress shirt, unbuttoned, and a set of matching dark blue undergarments that highlighted her porcelain skin, making it seem to glow. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, teasing the lace at the tops of her breasts. The effect was stunning.

She hesitated, her eyes raking over his lightly toned chest and strong legs, before she stood in front of him.

"Beautiful," he murmured, letting his hands rest on her hips. He looked up at her; he had to be sure. "Is this what _you_ want, Ms. Skye?"

She gave him a half-smile. "Only two people ever call me 'Lana' anymore," she said. She cupped her hand against his cheek, feeling the just-forming evening stubble. "Let me hear it from you, Miles." She moved closer, standing between his legs, leaned down and kissed him slowly, her soft lips dragging over his own.

"Lana," he breathed when they pulled apart, wondering at her sharp inhale as he said her name.

She maneuvered her knees onto the bed on both sides of his hips, straddling his lap, and his hands slid under her to pull her flush against him. He groaned at the sudden contact, the excitement that surged through him as their skin finally met, and the friction he felt as his arousal pressed against her stomach. Their lips met again and again, taking languid tastes of each other as their hands roamed against lean muscle and soft flesh.

At some point the blouse slipped down from Lana's shoulders onto the floor, and Edgeworth kissed a slow, wet trail across her shoulders as he moved each bra strap down her arms. She reached back and undid the clasp, revealing her round breasts. He palmed each one, cupping gently, and brushed his thumbs over pert, pink nipples, watching her face carefully. She closed her eyes and her back arched slightly, and a low noise of pleasure rumbled through her.

As he moved his hands over her, she reached beneath the elastic band of his briefs and ran her fingers across his rigid length. He nearly cried out – her light touch was teasing, torturous. She curled her fingers and started stroking, her touch more firm, and he moaned into her mouth, enjoying the smooth feel of her hand against him, infinitely more pleasurable than his own familiar palm.

He suddenly twisted, laying Lana across his bed and hovering over her. He ran his hands down the length of her body and pulled away the last scrap of fabric, finally revealing all of her. She was breathing hard.

Gingerly, he ran his fingers up her inner thigh, listened as her breath hitched, and lightly, so lightly, he brushed his fingertips through her soft curls and against her swollen flesh. Her head tipped back against the pillows and she moaned, a low sound that he felt as much as he heard. His pulse sped up and he did it again, dipping inside her wet folds, stroking softly.

"M-Miles," she panted, her hips writhing, and she reached her hand toward him. He shifted up and met her feverish lips as his fingers kept moving. She ground against his hand, making noises of enjoyment and frustration, until he finally found that hard nub, and her spine arced and she cried out in pleasure. Her hands clenched tight around his shoulders as he rubbed in circles, and he felt himself grow painfully hard as he carefully slipped a finger inside her and felt how she gripped him, hot and deliciously tight.

"Do you want to finish, like this?" His words were low and clipped as he simultaneously tried to keep a varied rhythm while decidedly not thinking about how wonderful it would feel to plunge into her. Her eyes slowly opened, just enough so that he could see the dark blue, and he felt his blood surge at the look she gave him. She shook her head and pulled his arm away from her and placed a hand on his chest, and pushed him down to the bed.

Like he had done to her, she rolled off his briefs and then moved atop his thighs, wrapping her fingers around his shaft and pulling gently back and forth. Edgeworth fumbled with his end table, fingers slipping off the drawer handle as he rocked into her grip. He finally pulled out a foil packet and ripped it open, and Lana rolled the latex over him.

"Are you ready?" Her voice was surprisingly steady as she balanced one palm on his chest and laced her other fingers with his hand, leaning over him. He could feel the heat from her hovering over the head of his erection, and it took enormous willpower to not move.

"Are you?" He tried to sound confident, smug and sure, but the waver in his voice gave him away. Lana simply smiled – that soft, amazing, true smile – and lined him up, and slowly, gloriously, sank onto him.

It was like a fire spread through him. She was wonderful, all heat and wet and tight so, so good. His eyes fluttered shut and for a moment he feared it had it fact been _too_ long, that he would spill over the edge and end this far too quickly, before he reined in his senses.

Lana had her eyes clenched tight, her mouth open and taking deep breaths. Finally she looked at him, her gaze piercing, and began to move. He let her set the pace. She rose and fell, gripping his biceps tightly, her breasts swaying gently and her body relaxing more with each plunge.

It was a sight he would never forget.

He rose onto his elbows, legs shifting as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and hugged her close to him. Her eyes were wide, her mouth just beginning to form some word, when he readjusted their position and suddenly thrust into her, and whatever she meant to say was lost in a sharp moan.

They found a steady rhythm. Lana clung to his shoulders, her breasts rubbing against his chest, and he held tight to her lower back. Their breaths were heavy and the air grew thick with the scent of sex. He freed one hand and plunged it between them, rubbing hard against her clitoris as they moved against each other. She cried out again, collapsing against him as he ground faster into her. Her voice rose in pitch, culminating in gasps of _Oh OH!_, until she finally froze; then she gave a strangled moan and he felt her inner muscles clench around him as she rode out her peak.

She sank bonelessly against him, her arms wrapping around his neck, and she nipped at his ear as he thrust quickly, moving in sharp, shallow pushes, until he felt that hot coil of tension in his abdomen finally release, and he shuddered.

Gracelessly, they tumbled to the side onto the bed and Edgeworth felt himself slip out of Lana. He felt more tired than he had in ages – and more content than he could remember. Lana rested her head next to his, their limbs still tangled together, both struggling to catch their breath. She raised her hand and swept his sweat-soaked bangs away from his face.

"Thank you," she said, voice soft.

"And you," he replied, equally soft. They looked at each other for a long moment, basking in the afterglow. When his legs finally did _not_ feel like jelly, Edgeworth disposed of the condom and retrieved a few towels from the bathroom. "Are you- That is, you're welcome to…" He couldn't find the right words, his usual eloquence abandoning him.

She just nodded. "I'll stay."

After they cleaned up she lay next to him again, her naked flesh still warm under the sheets. He wrapped his arm around her, turned off the lamp, and together they drifted to sleep.

Later that night Edgeworth abruptly woke from his usual nightmare. As his heart rate returned to normal, he saw Lana facing away from him, still asleep. Her dark hair swept over her back, skin smooth and beautiful in the low light. He moved next to her, breathing in her scent, and fell back to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, she was gone.


End file.
